


The Underdogs

by austinachievers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Multi, Quidditch, Quidditch AU, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austinachievers/pseuds/austinachievers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burnie Burns was once a world-renowned Quidditch coach until a disastrous loss for the United States National Team decimated his reputation. A few years later he is getting his chance to redeem himself. However, the Austin Achievers have the longest losing streak in Quidditch history. With a miracle and some magic, maybe this team can climb their way to the top of the American League.</p><p>(This a rewrite of an old fanfiction by the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of an old fanfiction. Hopefully this time it will get finished. (:

Burnie Burns used to be someone. He did not dwell on this fact very much. To be perfectly honest, after the years of insanity, he occasionally enjoyed the peace and quiet. Then it became very boring very fast and he was reduced to wandering around his front yard in the morning only wearing his boxers and a cat tucked underneath his arm as he searched for his goddamn morning paper. He swore the delivery kid hated him.

He missed getting his papers the old-fashioned way. The magical way. As it would turn out, owls were a thousand times more reliable than a fucking kid on a bike. 

After he had wrestled his paper out of the bushes and glared at his neighbor across the street, Burnie ducked out of the sweltering summer heat back into the house. He plopped Joe the cat onto the nearest chair and smoothed the paper over his counter straight to the sports section. Muggle sports weren’t nearly as interesting as Quidditch, but he had quit the shit cold turkey after the 2006 Quidditch World Cup.

That was a time when he was someone. Burnie Burns was one of the greatest Quidditch Coaches in the world. He had coached the New York Griffins and took the US Cup four years in a row. That was when the United States National team hired him. 

That was one hell of a ride. The United States was never getting treated seriously as they barely managed to scrape their way into the top sixteen in 2002 and immediately lost to Scotland by a devastating four-hundred points. That coach resigned leaving the position open for the taking and Burnie was hired. He brought the US team to the same standard as his precious Griffins. They trained hard and fought their way into the top sixteen.

The won their first game. A victory for the United States. They won their second game, a goddamn miracle. Then came the semi-finals as they faced Scotland once again. In interview after interview, Burnie excitedly proclaimed that they would destroy the Scots and get their revenge for the last World Cup. He had been so sure they were going to win.

And in some cruel twist of fate, they lost. Their keeper took a bludger to the face in the first fifteen minutes of the game. In the time it took to fix her nose and get her back onto her broom, Scotland had taken advantage and created a gap between the scores. Then two of his chasers collided with each other in a quaffle catch as Burnie was distracted with getting his keeper back onto the field.

The game fell apart from there. Players were getting injured faster than the team could get them back onto the field. Some blamed dirty playing by the Scots, some said the US team self-destructed under the pressure, and most of all, Burnie Burns’ hubris was at fault. He endangered his team with risky maneuvers that ultimately failed.

That was the end of his Quidditch career. That was, until now.

His reminiscing when there was a muffled crack and a sharp knock on his door, which sent Joe scrambling to the other room. Burnie stiffly pushed away from the counter and grumbled underneath his breath about not expecting anyone.

It was usually just him and Joe.

The door swung open to reveal the last person Burnie expected. “Gus?” He barely managed to choke out.

The grumpy man dressed in bright orange summer robes breezed past him and into the house. “See, I knocked this time.”

With the initial shock wearing off, Burnie felt his face turn red with fury. “So you fucking apparate onto my doorstep with your fucking robes in the middle of the fucking morning? What is your problem dude? Do you have any idea what kind of neighborhood I live in?” He whirled around, half-debating to smack his friend. Instead, he hugged that son of a bitch.

“Good to see you too Burnie.” Gus mumbled and pushed away his friend. “And at least it’s better than apparating into your house. Last time I was surprised by your birthday suit.”

Burnie shrugged. “But you had some great fucking news to tell me, so everything was forgiven.” That was the day Gus had announced that he had landed Burnie the gig of coaching the US team. Now, after all of these years, Burnie had to wonder why he was back. “Do you have a job for me?”

“That depends. Is Burnie Burns ready to come back to the Quidditch world?” Gus asked, plopping down in a chair. He glared at Joe, as the cat seemed to debate jumping into his lap.

“Oh, they missed me that much?” He laughed bitterly.

Gus smirked. “You wish.” He rummaged around in his bag and produced a few pieces of paper. “This won’t be the most glamorous offer, but it’s a good starting point.”

“What? Like the Denver Trolls or the Tampa Fwoopers?” Burnie shrugged, crossing his arms. That was scraping the bottom of the barrel but at least savagable. They were atrocious back in the early 2000’s but times have probably changed. He only bothered to stay caught up with the Griffins who he had left in the capable hands of Matt Hullum. They had done well in the top five every year since.

This time Gus practically beamed with some kind of sadistic pleasure. “Worse. Do you remember the Austin Achievers?”

Burnie’s stomach sank into the floor. Saying the Austin Achievers were universally the worst team in Quidditch was hardly exaggerating. They were notorious for having the longest dry spell in the entirety of the game. They had gone almost ten years without winning a game.

“You mean they want me to coach?” Burnie barely managed to squeeze those words out of his suddenly dry mouth. “Why the fuck haven’t they been disbanded yet?”

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice. You can keep living here like a crazy person talking to your cat if you want. I don’t give a shit about what you choose,” Gus muttered with a shrug, throwing the papers down in front of Burnie. “But if I were you, I would take the goddamn job. One win with this shitty team and you have a shot of climbing your way back up.”


	2. Fresh Meat [pt. 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting off this fic with two chapters in a night, but from now on I plan on posting a chapter about once a week.

Burnie had only been to Austin a handful of times. Each time it was so the Griffins could stomp the living shit out of the Achievers. Their games had never been pretty, but the Achievers never held it against them because every team had already squashed them anyway. 

And every time Burnie was in Austin, it was hot as balls. He had only apparated seconds ago to his hotel and he was already sweating. 

“What the hell am I doing here?” He muttered as he dropped his luggage in his room. However, Burnie didn’t have time to sit around and get himself situated. Not even time to really ask questions. The season started in less than eight weeks and there was a lot of work to be done.

Rooster Teeth (which a dumb name in Burnie’s opinion) Stadium was the home of the Achievers. It was practically a mud pit the last he remembered. The groundskeepers always half-assed their duties that left the field more dirt than grass with hoops that were constantly on the verge of falling apart. It was a pitiful excuse for a stadium. 

He expected to be greeted by a ghost town. No one showed up to official games so why would anyone show up to watch their summer training? The Griffons used to fill their stadium every day with fans watching their practices. He assumed training the Achievers would have the exact opposite result.

Except when he showed up, the whole building was swamped. People were standing in a long, winding line starting at the stadium doors. As Burnie gained his footing, he nearly slammed into a tall young man in training robes. A piece of paper was pinned to his back with thick black numbers declaring ‘105’. Burnie tapped him on the shoulder, trying his hardest to keep his temper in check.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demanded as the kid turned around.

He blinked a few times, a shocked expression marring the dark-haired kid’s good looks. “You don’t know?” He asked, as if it was obvious. “The Austin Achievers are holding open try-outs. The whole team quit after their coach bailed.” He shrugged, an English accent accompanying his words.

Burnie could hardly believe his ears.

“What?” He spit, his ears burning with fury. He was never once informed of this.

He fought his way up to the front of the line, pushing past all of the numbered backs. The players were slowly being filed into the stadium by the droopy-eyed and tattooed captain of the Austin Achievers. “Look who finally decided to show up!” He called as Burnie stomped over. He held out a clipboard to the new coach as he struggled to calm enough to speak.

“What the fuck is—“

Geoff Ramsey narrowed his eyes and slammed the clipboard hard against Burnie’s chest. “You can thank me later. Unless you want to start the season with four players, I suggest you let these kids do their thing.”

“Four players? So everyone did quit?” His anger quickly dissolved into disheartening hopelessness. “It was that bad?”

Geoff shrugged. “When Coach quit everyone took advantage of it and got out of their contracts. Everyone switched to more successful teams which wasn’t hard since almost every other team is more successful.”

“You’re still here,” Burnie sighed, finally taking the clipboard and glancing over the list of names.

“Oh don’t kid yourself, I fought like hell to get off this godforsaken team but Griffon and I couldn’t find a single team that wanted both of us. We would rather go down in this sinking ship together. Then you just have Jack Pattillo who’s a Texas native that wasn’t too eager to leave and Barbara Dunkelmann who just emerged from the Canadian league and isn’t known well enough to get picked up.”

“So that gives me, what? Two chasers, a beater, and a keeper?”

“Yup, so unless you want to play with just us, how about we get these try-outs started?”

Burnie joined the sad remainders of the Austin Achievers in the stands. The hopefuls milled about from below nervously like little ants.

The easiest to recognize was Jack Patillo with his trademark burning orange beard. He was already suited up in full keeper’s padding, his broom thrown over his shoulder. A huge pair of goggles dangled around his neck. He turned away from the edge of the stands as Burnie cleared his throat.

“We’re holding the chaser auditions first. Would you mind?” Burnie asked, waving his hand toward the field.

“’Course boss.” Jack climbed unsteadily onto the railing but he dropped off fearlessly. Instead of plummeting to his death like any other person, he reappeared in the air seconds later on a sluggish but sturdy broom.

Burnie turned to Geoff who was sitting next to an equally tattooed woman, Griffon. “Have you ever tried talking him into a faster broom?”

Geoff shook his head. “Impossible. He won’t let go of that broom for anything but I’ve seen it get pummeled by bludger after bludger. That damn thing won’t break. He likes it that way.”

“Fair enough,”

The final remaining member was a young woman, obviously Barbara Dunkelmann. Currently she was paying no mind to her new coach, instead nearly hanging over the railing to get a better view of the field before. Burnie swore that if he put one finger on that kid’s back she would tip over and he would need to hire five chasers instead of four.

Shaking his head, Burnie brandished his wand with a flourish and pointed the tip to his throat. “Sonorus,” he muttered before turning to the crowd milling below. “ALRIGHT FRESH MEAT,” 

Those first few words nearly burst his eardrums and everyone surrounding him covered their ears. “Sorry about that,” he said, much quieter. “We are about to start, first group mount their brooms. Want to impress me recruits? Score on Mr. Pattillo here and we can start talking contracts.”

As expected, the first few groups were a nervous wreck. They dropped the quaffle every chance they got and Burnie watched too many times as it plummeted to the ground. That was until the third group.

A young man and woman passed the ball back and forth with short, slow passes that would be worth nothing in a game. The third chaser hovered off to the side, reminding Burnie of a bird as he barely sat on his broom. He was certain that if the kid could safely stand on his broom, he would. 

He was about to dump all of their applications in the reject pile when all of a sudden, the young man that had been receiving the quaffle fumbled it. Burnie sighed as he watched it spiral past his feet and toward the ground. 

What stunned him was when the third chaser suddenly took a steep dive and swiped the ball out of the air with grace that didn’t suit his awkward, bony figure. Burnie could see the split second decision in his eyes as he darted straight back up. In a blur, the chaser darted around Jack and practically dropped the quaffle through the hoop before the keeper could blink.

“Not bad,” Burnie grumbled, setting his application aside. “He’s almost too skinny to be a chaser. He needs some meat on his bones but I can’t complain too much.”

“Well, he has a pretty face.” Barbara pulled away from the railing in a flurry of blonde hair. A shit-eating grin plastered across her face. “The girls will be chasing him in no time!”

Everyone groaned.

“What’s his name?” Geoff asked, leaning over Burnie’s shoulder to glance at the application.

“Free, Gavin. Hogwarts graduate, played chaser at school, moved to America a few years ago.” Burnie turned toward the team captain. “You like him?”

“As you said, he’s small and we’ll have to whip his British ass into shape but otherwise, yeah sure why not.” Geoff leaned back, a smile across his stubbled face. 

Burnie turned his wand toward his throat again, looking out onto the three chasers that seemed to be setting up another drill. “ENOUGH. NEXT.”

A few chaser groups later, there was a little more promise. One girl in the group had no passing ability whatsoever, but the other two players made up for what she lacked. 

One was a young man dressed almost entirely in muggle clothing with tennis shoes, athletic shorts, and a t-shirt. Burnie figured the baseball cap and obnoxiously colored sunglasses were magically glued in place someone as the chaser pulled out of a spin. He had a strong build and a smile that radiated across the field as he scored. He had the speed and brute strength to push through a heavy defense. What made him even more promising was how well he already worked with his teammate.

She had dark hair that was tightly tied back and pristine-looking practice robes in black and purple. From afar, she looked practically graceful as a cat on her broom but that meant nothing in the world of Quidditch. She was also smaller than Burnie usually liked his chasers. Then, he saw her throw.

There was a brief stillness in their play as the two met in the middle and Burnie saw their mouths move in a flurry as they created a plan of attack in the seconds of passing. Then the young man shot across the field at a blinding speed. The girl, Geoff provided her name, Arryn, whipped the ball upward and outward. The young man, Caleb, was forced to shoot straight up to grab it.

It barely grazed his fingertips before his lobbed it down. It flew past Jack’s head and straight into the left hoop. 

“I like them.” Geoff was the first to speak up this time. He practically snatched the applications out of Burnie’s hands and threw them down in the consideration pile.

Their final chaser arrived in the last group. Two of the chasers’ applications were dumped into the denied pile almost immediately. They were small, nervous-looking, and both dropped the ball as soon as it was handed to them. Even if they were the greatest players on the planet, if their nerves got to them, Burnie didn’t want them on the team.

The third person in the group on the other hand moved with an air of arrogance. His dark hair was ruffled by the wind but it gave him a model-like look. He grabbed the quaffle out of the hands of his teammate and charged straight for Jack. Burnie silently hoped that Jack would slam him and put the overconfident idiot in his place. 

However, before that could happen, the chaser fell into a steep dive and rolled underneath Jack to come up behind the hoops. As he righted himself, he practically dropped the quaffle in the center hoop. As he did a victory lap past Burnie and the rest of the team, he shot them an obnoxious grin.

“I hate cocky kids.” Burnie grumbled under his breath and shot a glare at Geoff when he chuckled. “What is it you fucker?”

“Not a kid.” Geoff held up the man’s application. “Heyman, Joel. He isn’t a kid, he’s older than you Coach.”

“Are you shitting me?” Burnie demanded, snatching the application from Geoff. “he doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.” Sure enough, the application stated that Joel Heyman, an Austin native, was definitely forty-two. “Fuck me, you’re right.”

Geoff shrugged. “He’s really good, one of the best we’ve seen today. We will regret not considering him.”

Burnie hated to admit it, but Geoff was right. “Fine, that’s the end of the chasers then.”


	3. Fresh Meat [pt. 2]

Seekers were next. Burnie moved down to the field, glad to have a lighter burden with the stack of applications. There were significantly less of them than there were of the chasers. 

Almost all of the chasers were tiny, skinny, and short, as they should. Lighter on the broom meant they could move faster. They all watched with deer-in-headlights eyes as Burnie wielded an object that closely resembled a canon. He loaded several snitch-sized golden balls into the device and placed it on his shoulder.

The first few seekers failed to grab a single golden that were launched at them. Sure, they were fast but snitches were faster. If they couldn’t catch these substitutes there was no way they could catch a real live snitch. 

Then came applicant number 3. He was a tiny, scruffy kid with black hair, stubble, and thick goggles. His practice robes were shabby at best with obvious wear and tear, and worn out boots. However, his broom appeared to be brand new and top of the line. Then again, the broom does not make the player.

Burnie doubted him until the balls started to launch.

The kid plucked each one out of the air as if they were apples from a tree. It was like the broom was running on autopilot. He zipped between the balls without so much as a thought and dropped them the instant he heard the pop of the next one being launched.

“Narvaez Jr., Ray.” Geoff read the name out. “Graduated from the New York Wizarding Academy. I’ve heard of this kid, he was supposed to be on the Detroit Hippogriffs ages ago but ended up not fulfilling his contract after some health problems.”

The kid dismounted a bit shakily but with a smile on his face. 

“He seems fine now. I don’t know why he’s auditioning for a shithole team like this but hell, I’ll take him.” Burnie said with a grin.

“Oh, sorry. Excuse me.” When they called out the next name, a tiny voice emerged from the cluster of seekers. A small girl with long, brown hair twisted into a tight braid pushed her way out. A slight accent was obvious in her words. She wasn’t British like some of the earlier players. It was close, but not quite.

She mounted her broom and launched into the air. She didn’t move as fast as Narvaez, but she was pretty damn close. She performed neat little catches on the first two balls. They weren’t flawless, but they were better than most of the attempts Burnie had seen today. 

That was until the cannon malfunctioned on her last ball. Instead of launching it up in the air, it fired forward like a bullet.

Burnie had never seen a seeker dive so fast. She was practically vertical as she dove after the little yellow ball and snagged it out of the air. At the last possible second she pulled out of the dive, barely avoiding her almost certain collision with the ground. 

As she hovered, she clutched onto the ball as if it were her golden ticket and smiled warily at the gaping crowd. She unlocked her white, clenched fingers from her broom to readjust her goggles. “How was that?” She quietly asked the stunned silence.

“Ward, Caiti. I don’t give a fuck what you think. She’s on our team.” Geoff muttered, a smirk tugging at his face. His comment was completely unnecessary; Burnie didn’t need a push to know that this girl had to be on the team.

Beating was by far the hardest group to test. They were broken into pairs and asked to beat the bludger back and forth between them to get a clear view of their strength, swing, and accuracy. After the first four groups, there were already three players knocked off their brooms. “I hate finding beaters. We nearly have to kill them to find the best ones.”

“Better now than in the middle of a game.” Geoff pointed out, handing Burnie the next set of applications as they took flight.

The one kid immediately caught Burnie’s eye. He was a stocky young man with a mop of curly red hair. Massive goggles, bigger than Jack’s, were strapped over his face. Gripping the bat like it was a club, he swung at the first bludger and sent it whistling past his partner’s head with terrifying accuracy. “You were supposed to hit it back you dumb fuck,” The kid shouted, making his already nervous-looking partner shake harder.

The bludger came hurdling back and the nervous player merely rolled out of the way, letting it charge right past him and aim at Curly’s head. At the last second, Curly swung around to dodge and brought his bat down hard on the surface of the metal ball. With a resounding crack, it hurtled back toward his partner who had to fall into a deep dive to avoid it.

Curly whipped his broom around to face Burnie in the stands. His round face had turned an alarming shade of red. 

“Oh my god! Can I get a new fucking partner? This one sucks!” The kid screamed, swinging out mid-sentence to strike the bludger again, barely glancing in its direction. His partner had already touched the ground and dismounted.

Burnie smirked and turned toward Griffon. “He’s got a mean swing. Think you can handle him?”

Griffon raised an eyebrow as she seemed to consider Curly. “I can handle anything. What’s his name?”

“Jones, Michael. He graduated from the New York Wizarding Academy.” Burnie said to her and then turned back toward the furious beater who was busy whacking the living shit out of the bludger. “No need for another partner, dismount Jones!” He shouted.

Jones gave a scream of frustration, probably thinking he had failed, and dismounted with a flourish of poor sportsmanship and an echoing “FUCK.”

“You’ll have to beat that out of him before he plays a professional game.” Geoff said, glancing toward his wife with a grin.

Burnie shrugged. “It’ll be worth it.”

Their other two beaters came in a set.

One Burnie automatically recognized as the young man he had practically assaulted this morning. He was dark-hair and muscular British kid, Dan Gruchy, who had graduated from Hogwarts and according to his application played beater for several years. 

“He’s going to be a big hit with the ladies too!” Barbara quickly chimed in after Burnie read out his name. 

He had one of the strongest swings Burnie had ever seen. His accuracy was a little shaky but his partner more than made up for it. The partner in question was a young girl with dark red hair, cut in bangs across her forehead, and dressed similar to one of the earlier chasers. She was almost completely in muggle clothing with the exception of her padding. 

Where she lacked in strength in her swing, she had pinpoint accuracy that made Burnie think she could hit the snitch with a bludger if she put her mind to it. They passed the bludger between them with such linear accuracy that for the first time Burnie did not fear for his life.

“Tuggey, Lindsay.” Geoff read the name from over Burnie’s shoulder, sounding impressed.

“I think we have our beaters,” Burnie said, barely able to keep the smile off his face.

The final and smallest group to go was the keepers. The air had cooled down considerably and with the sun starting to disappear behind the walls of the stadium, Burnie was glad this was finally wrapping up. After being contained to the stands all day, they were more than ecstatic to stretch their legs and play adversary to the keeper candidates. 

That was when Jack replaced Geoff by Burnie’s side. He flipped through the first few applications with a raised eyebrow. “Looking for my replacement?” He chuckled good-naturedly.

“Only if you plan to get beamed in the head by a bludger sometime soon.” Burnie muttered, watching as Geoff and Barbara set up against the first candidate, passing the quaffle lazily between them.

That first candidate in question was a stocky man with sandy blonde hair. He was older than most of the hopefuls today, looking similar in age as Geoff and Jack. He was adjusting the strap on his helmet, but Burnie noticed the way his eyes never left Geoff and Barbara for a second. The stare was almost predatory as he tracked the quaffle.

“Haywood, Ryan.” Burnie read off the application as Geoff and Barbara fell into position for scoring.

Geoff and Barbara danced around the keeper, keeping the quaffle out of range for a few seconds before Geoff attempted to cut around the back and throw it in the left hoop. Seeing that he wasn’t close enough to catch it, Haywood drove the end of his broom through the hoop and caught the edge of the ball, popping it up and over the hoop. He easily caught it, a cold glint of satisfaction flitted in his eyes as he tossed it back to Geoff.

“Is that legal?” Burnie asked, trying to keep surprise out of his voice.

“Well, it’s Flacking if he puts any of his body through the back of the hoop. But I don’t know about the broom.” Jack whistled, obviously impressed.

The second time, Geoff and Barbara did not take a slow approach to the hoops. However, Geoff allowed himself to get a little too close to the hoops. Just as he was about to launch the ball, Haywood rushed forward and collided with the chaser, snatching the ball right out of his hands.

“He’s an aggressive player, I’ll give him that.” Jack said, taking the application from Burnie’s hands. “We’ll just have to clean it up a little so he doesn’t give out penalties.”

“Again!” Burnie shouted from the stands. As the stadium had emptied out, he gave up amplify his voice. Haywood tossed the quaffle back to Geoff and fell back into position.

Geoff and Barbara were careful to remain out of Haywood’s range this time, passing the quaffle between them, trying to find a crack in his defenses. It was Barbara that seemed to find it. She arched her arm and shot the quaffle toward the hoops.

At first, the throw seemed to knock Haywood off guard as it sailed toward the tallest hoop. Geoff was already climbing his way up there to receive it and guide it through. Then Haywood shot up without hesitation. Using the very tip of his fingers, he managed to tip the ball away from the hoops and launched it back toward a stunned Barbara.

“I think we have my substitute.” Jack muttered, a smile crossing his face.

“Maybe you were right earlier. We can just replace you instead.” Burnie smiled to show he was joking. “But he’s our first candidate, we still need to see the rest.” He said with a shrug, placing Haywood’s application to the side. However, at the end of the day it didn’t matter. None of the others even compared.

“I think we have our team,”


	4. Make the Cut

He had blown it. He had royally fucking screwed everything just because he couldn’t control his temper. His chance to play again, to be back on the field, and he had ripped it out from under his own fucking feet like a rug. It had been too simple to blame his partner. The dude had been shaking and couldn’t even hit the broadside of a barn if he tried. However, it had been Michael who had lost his temper, screamed obscenities, and stormed off the field.

At this point, Michael couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He was such a fucking moron.

When he returned to the apartment that night his roommates, Miles and Kerry, were eagerly waiting in the living room to hear the news. When Michael screamed and promptly threw a chair across the room, they made themselves scarce. Even as Michael plodded into the kitchen the next morning, they were gone.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched his sore arms above his head. It was going to be another boring morning for him. There was no Quidditch, no Austin Achievers, he was doomed to his average life. The prospect of escaping Jersey had been too sweet for this bitter morning.

The only sweet thing about this morning was a plate stacked with pancakes. A warming charm was casted over them to keep them hot. It was probably a peace offering from Miles before him and Kerry escaped from the apartment. 

Michael didn’t blame them for hiding. They probably went to Brandon’s or something.

Plopping down in the chair, Michael started to stuff his face and was instantly glad that he scared the absolute shit out of his friends.

At the end of the day, Michael barely managed to stay until the end of the try-outs. He watched with bitter disappointment as the rest of the candidates moved through the motions. He was practically seething as he watched two beaters, obviously well matched in skill unlike his fucking partner, practically landed their slots on the team immediately. 

Then after the Keeper auditions, Burns released everyone and said that everyone would get owls the next day. Those that made the team would get their owls first thing because with only two months before the season started, there was no time to delay. The clock that ticked just about Michael’s head reminded him bitterly that it was almost the afternoon. And there was no owl.

As he shoveled the pancakes into his mouth, all of the what-ifs ran through his head. If only he hadn’t lost his temper, if only he didn’t throw a tempter tantrum when he dismounted, maybe if he had just hit the bludger around a few more times. It was almost unbearable, but the sticky syrup made it a little better.

However, it was not pleasant when it almost became lodged in his throat. He was startled to practically choking, as there was a sharp crack at the window that persisted into a constant clicking.

“No fucking way.” Michael said under his breath as he stood and crossed the room. He opened the window and a rather flustered barn owl hopped in, extending its leg to Michael. A letter was attached and the grumpy creature seemed eager to be rid of it. 

With trembling fingers Michael ripped open the envelope. Rough handwriting was scrawled across the paper with his name clearly printed at the top. He read the letter four times to be absolutely certain of the words on the page.

Michael screamed, but this time in pure excitement. He clutched the letter in tight fingers as he reread it a fifth time, beaming until he reread the last sentence.

“Shit, I’ve gotta pack.” The first practice was tomorrow.

“And this is where you’ll be staying.” Jack shouldered open the door and dropped one of Michael’s duffels onto a dusty floor. Michael followed him into the tiny room. He had never gone to college, but he had a feeling that this is what dorms rooms were like. There was a bunk bed, two desks, and two small dressers. Otherwise, the room was bare.

“It’s small.” Michael muttered, throwing his duffel bag onto the bottom bunk.

“Yeah, sorry about that but we aren’t exactly rolling in cash. If we win a few games, that might change.” The keeper said, leaning against the doorframe. “Even I live in the dorms when I have a house less than five miles away. Think of how I might feel.” He chuckled.

Michael plopped down onto the bed and glanced up at the top bunk. “Am I going to be sharing the room with someone?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, with---“

“Michael Jones?!” An incredulous voice shouted from the doorway, one that Michael recognized immediately. Standing before Michael was none other than Ray Narvaez Jr. The kid was still as small and scruffy as he had ever been, just this time he wasn’t in the stiff uniform from the academy. 

“Ray, good to see you buddy.” Michael jumped up from the bunk and was quick to bro-hug it out. It had been few years since Michael had seen his friend, but it was hard to forget that face.

“You two know each other?” Jack asked, an amused grin stretched across his bearded face.

“Hell yeah,” Ray said, letting an arm drape across Michael’s shoulder. “We played together on New York Wizarding Academy’s team for a few years. Guess we’ll be playing together again.”

Michael couldn’t hide the smile that emerged on his face. He hadn’t been expecting to know anyone on the team, but having Ray was a comfort. Though, it was a surprise to find him on such a dump of a team. Even though Michael knew this was his only chance, this hadn’t been Ray’s.

Jack, seemingly satisfied with how the lads had settled, turned back toward the door. “I have a bunch more new players to situate before the end of the day, so I’ll leave you two to exploring on your own. I’ll talk to you later.” The redhead waved a hand and disappeared down the hall. 

Ray glanced toward the bottom bunk. “Would it be too much to ask for that one?”

Michael raised a brow. “Whatever dude, it’s just nice that I know the person I’m fucking bunking with, you know?” He tugged his bag off his bed and tossed it onto the top bunk. Looking relieved, Ray dumped his belongings onto the bottom. 

For a while, they worked in silence as they emptied their clothes into the dressers and hung their practice robes. Michael leaned his broom against the wall next to them and grinned broadly. While his broom was a little rough around the edges, it had held on through the good times and the bad. 

“Hey, is that your old broom from the Academy?” Ray asked, leaning his own broom against the wall. It was practically brand new with a glossy handle and the tail was still neat and orderly. However, Michael didn’t comment on it but it was lower quality. Michael never remembered Ray to settle for less than top of the line.

“Yeah, it is. Couldn’t let it go.” He said, stretching his arms above his head. “After this dust, I think we need some fresh air.”

“I was thinking of venturing out and finding a good party space for after our first win. Whenever that comes.” Ray said, pumping the air with a fist. “I looked up a few places in the muggle parts of Austin.”

“I thought you didn’t like to drink.” Michael quipped, but didn’t hesitate to follow Ray out of the cramped room.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like to party. I need a good place to get my virgin rum and coke.” He winked. “Also I’m glad you’re dressed at least semi-normally. I can’t go out into muggle Austin with someone dressed in robes.”

Michael glanced down at his outfit, which was a t-shirt and shorts, sort of his regular garb. His mom was a witch and had grown up wearing robes, but his dad was a muggle. Michael ended up growing up wearing muggle clothing unless he was visiting his mom’s relatives. Anyway, he always deemed muggle clothes more comfortable than robes.

“So why muggle Austin? I bet we could find a decent bar in the more magical parts.”

“Well, after living with your parents in the most non-magical part of New York City makes you expect a certain atmosphere. Also I don’t need you idiots magically spiking my drinks.” Ray shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Michael smirked, remembering that Ray was muggleborn. His parents had been blissfully unaware of their son’s abilities until the academy offered him enrollment when he was ten. He lived with a foot in each world, and Michael could sympathize with that.

Outside, the heat pressed down like a hot iron on Michael. New Jersey got hot too, but never this bad. Ray took a deep breath beside him. “At least it’s a dry heat.” He said, running a hand through his shaggy hair. 

Away from the team’s house, Jack was standing with two more guys with bags. One was the dark-haired British guy from the beater group that had performed phenomenally. Earlier, Michael was cursing him name but now he was glad to see him. Standing next to him was a much skinnier player and gravity-defying hair. They were both dressed more traditionally with summer cloaks with thin pants and boots.

Michael shouldered Ray slightly and pointed at the skinny one. “Was he in the seeker group?”

Ray studied him for a second and then shook his head. “Nope. Don’t recognize him.”

Skinny’s ears must have been burning because he turned around and caught Michael’s eye. He shot him a wave, a smile beaming across a face crowded by an oversized nose. Michael didn’t get a chance to wave back before Jack led them inside.

“I couldn’t take them into Joe-Schmoe’s bar and grill right now,” Ray smirked.

They ended up deciding on a small bar on the first floor of an apartment building. It was clean enough that Michael wasn’t worrying about contracting hand herpes but it was small and quiet so that if they brought a bunch of magic folk already drunk on victory, there would be the least amount of witnesses. 

Ray was truly satisfied with the place when Michael ordered a beer and the bartender barely reacted when Michael accidentally pulled out sickles. He merely slid the silver coins back to the flustered kid as he dug out dollars instead.

“He’s probably seen enough that a few strange coins and maybe some unexplainable phenomena doesn’t throw him off.” Ray muttered as they turned their backs on the bar. Michael gulped at the cold beer, refreshing on this stifling Texas afternoon and Ray had a coke in hand. “So, what have you been up to since graduation?”

Michael perked up and raised an eyebrow. “At first I tried the Quidditch circuit. Found out pretty quickly that none of the teams wanted to take on a kid that could get carded for his mouth.” He sighed and then smacked Ray in the shoulder when he stifled a few giggles. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You did get quite the reputation after you head butted that chaser from Anaheim Institute of Magic.” Ray collapsed in a fit of laughter and Michael felt his face turn bright red.

“That fucker had it coming!” Michael cried indignantly. “He was trying to knock my goggles off. Prick.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. He remembered that game clearly. It was the near the end of his career, just as the scouts were looking at him and the other seniors. His temper got the better of him that day, after having the strap of his goggles snapped too many times, he head butted that idiot with such ferocity that he was removed from the game.

At the moment, Michael was satisfied as he watched the chaser spiral out of control. Then he was promptly thrown out of the game and according to his coach the stunt cost him a position on the Boston Greens. It also cost him when he attended try-outs across the nation. He was already known as the head butt kid.

“Guess these open try-outs were your ticket.” Ray commented with a smile once his laughter had subsided.

“Yours too,” Michael pointed out. “What happened? You were all set to play for Detroit and then when the rosters came out, your name wasn’t there.” He remembered getting the ecstatic news that Ray had been drafted. However, when it came to the first game, he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Ray’s shoulders dropped and he stared down at his coke. “Shit happened. My mom was sick and I needed to help out. I couldn’t do that from the road.” His words were hollow as he leaned back in his stool. There was a moment of companionable silence as Ray perked back up and held out his coke. “Cheers to new beginnings.” 

Michael smiled, clinking his beer against Ray’s coke. “Yup, to new beginnings and to the first practice tomorrow.”


End file.
